


Burn In Hell

by flowering_ghost



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dark Comedy, Demon Summoning, Demons, M/M, Slow Burn, Wizards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2020-10-06 18:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20511473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowering_ghost/pseuds/flowering_ghost
Summary: Arthur jokingly tries to summon a demon as part of his dark magic studies. It actually succeeds and now he is stuck with the very pissed off incubus Francis.Francis wants to go back to hell. Arthur wants Francis to go back to hell. Unfortunately the spell to send a demon back to hell is extremely complicated and requires many ingredients so the two must go on a quest together to retrieve the ingredients for the spell.





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur Kirkland was seriously reconsidering his life decisions. A few beams of sunlight shone through cheap, ragged curtains, hastily closed to block out the clatter outside his window. People were living normal lives outside, perfectly content in their stability. He could go outside and join them, stop by the cafe for a cup of tea and some scones. He could be a regular, respectable member of society. 

Sometimes he wondered what the hell was wrong with him. It was never too late to back away from this occupation he told himself, to no avail.

White powder staining his hands, the blond grasped a stick of chalk and sketched out what he hoped was a good enough circle. If he had bothered to look closer it most likely have revealed itself to be slightly crooked, but it didn’t matter. Probably. There was a good chance of this not working anyways, what was the worst that could happen? 

Backing away, the young man stepped awkwardly to the corner where a yardstick leaned, dancing around as to not disturb the powdery circle dusting his creaky wooden floorboards. He ended up disrupting it anyways, as the yardstick was laid down in order for him to trace the pentagram.

_Candles next_ he noted, consulting the large book he had purchased from a store that looked shady enough to clearly be legit.__

_ _The box of matches felt heavy in his hand, a tangible reminder of his actions. With breathing nowhere near as steady as his hands, and a pounding heartbeat to match, he pulled out one of the thin wooden sticks. The tip struck the box, flames bursting across its surface, and he hoped the slow breath he let out wouldn’t extinguish the blaze. _ _

_ _Moving slowly, with a newfound determination, he lit the first candle, then tiptoed over to the next. The match burned out before the second caught, and he swore in a volume that hopefully wouldn’t disturb others in the apartment complex._ _

_ _Luckily the second match stayed lit, he was running low and enough money had been spent on something that was most likely not worth it. And with that thought, he closed his eyes and began to chant. _ _

_ _\--------------------------------------  
If Francis was human, he’d assume he was dreaming. However, he was fairly sure demons did not dream, and he didn’t seem to remember falling asleep. He did remember an uncomfortable tugging sensation, his body hitting hard ground, and a feeling of unexplainable exhaustion._ _

_ _“What the fuck,” he muttered, before the world spun around and he blacked out._ _


	2. Chapter 2

Having somehow pushed the demon onto his couch, and also noting that said demon was mildly attractive, Arthur came to the conclusion that he really needed a drink. 

Then again, he didn’t want to explain the passed out being to his neighbors if they came over, so he should probably take care of that first.

The first thing Francis registered upon regaining consciousness was a sharp pain spreading across his head. The next thing he registered was the bucket of water dangling in front of him. 

The bucket was being held by a slightly scrawny human who appeared prickly. His hair shot up in messy blond spikes, and aggressive emerald eyes were covered by thick eyebrows. His clothes were torn, though Francis couldn’t figure out if it was because of a lack of money or an edgy fashion statement.

“You could have just been a normal person and used the water,” he sighed, although a normal person probably wouldn’t be in this scenario. The human stuttered for a second, haphazardly placing the bucket on the table.

“I thought you might...melt or something,” he muttered, refusing to make eye contact.

Francis blinked and tried to decide how to tell the human how insanly stupid he was before settling on, “You’re British.”

The human glared, crossing his arms. “And you’re French. How the hell can a demon even be French? Are all Frenchmen demons? Because that would explain a lot.”

“As charming as your hospitality is, I have more important things to get back to. So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The human was focusing on flipping through a tattered book resting on the floor.

“Of course you’re a bloody incubus,” he groaned, with the voice of a man who had lost hope in life. “Is that why you’re French? Are you trying to be seductive?”

“Am I succeeding?”

“Do us both a favor and go back to hell already,”  
Francis was getting bored of laying on the couch and looking pretty for this dumbass. He sat up, shaking hair out of his face in an elegant and most definitely not showy manner, and glared into the Brit’s eyes.

“Believe me, I could if I would,”

The other raised an eyebrow, taken by surprise, though he rearranged his face quickly.

“What do you mean?” he questioned hesitantly. 

The demon decided that another hit on the head would feel rather nice at the moment.

“To put it simply, I can’t teleport out of sheer will. I need to be directed by a more powerful force.”

“Such as me.”

“Or a nobody with sheer dumb luck.” 

The two glared at each other again.

“So can you send me back?” Francis sighed, praying the answer would be affirmative. Otherwise the human would probably be dead in less than an hour.

“I...um...well the thing is I don’t exactly…” the wizard fumbled. “I don’t exactly know how,” he finally breathed, stiffening. 

He chanced a glance up, clearly saw the murder in the demon’s eyes, and supposed he didn’t currently want to die.

“But I know someone who might!” he stammered. “So, I’ll get you back and then we never have to talk again, okay?”

The demon gritted his teeth and held out his hand.

“Francis Bonnefoy.”

“Arthur Kirkland.”

“Seems like we’ll be with each other a little longer cherie.”

“Wanker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos make me :) comments make me :D


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur would consider himself friends with Bjørn, yet the autumn breeze whisking itself through the room seemed to grow colder as the Norweigian to grow colder as the Norwegian swung open the door, not bothering to knock.

Glacial blue eyes scanned the room, narrowing slightly, until they finally rested on the wizard standing in the corner. He crossed his arms, wishing he had a jacket to shield him from the aura piercing through his skin. 

“Arthur,” Bjørn sighed, running a hand through pale bangs, “what the hell did you do?”

The Brit made an angered noise that sounded similar to a young child after being chastised. Francis watched his flustered responses curiously, feeling like he had seen them before.

“Of all the things,” the newcomer was sighing, “you had to choose a demon. Are you happy? Did you achieve your edgy fantasies? Congratulations, I hope it was worth everything.” 

Uninterested with the bickering, Francis had toured the rickety apartment and marvelled at how some creatures suffer in order to survive. There was nothing in the kitchen, spare for a few scattered take-out boxes, empty bottles, and a mildly concerning smell of fire.

“Are you done staring at my fridge like it’s committed a personal offense?” came the dry accent that had already etched itself into his brain. When this was done he was going to spend the next few decades somewhere luxurious and quiet. 

“Did you figure something out?” Francis responded as he walked past the shorter mortal, not willing to waste more energy than he already had arguing. For a second, forest green eyes flashed with something disappointed, before settling back into cynical apathy. 

“Can I look at you?” Bjørn twirled his finger around a drifting curl in his hair, sitting stiffly on the couch. Something made the demon nod quietly, avoiding eye contact. 

Arthur had seen the glazed expression on Bjørn’s face before, but it never failed to make him shiver. However, what shocked him was the flicker of surprise that interrupted the trance.

“Arthur, have you seen his magic signature?” The Norweigian’s voice was slightly shaky, a change.

“I...didn’t get a chance,” he muttered, with the same flush of embarrassment dusting his face.

The room was silent, aside from Norwiegian cursing.

“Look at it,” was all Bjørn muttered.

Francis watched with interest as the glazed look overtook emerald eyes. A barely audible gasp feel from Arthur’s lips as he realized what he was seeing.

“But that’s…” he breathed, hoping for once he was wrong.

Bjørn gave an affirmative nod. “A holy stamp. On a demon.”

It was clear as day. Arthur could see the light, threading itself through what should have been a purely sinful creature. Streaming from where his heart should be. 

It didn’t make sense, but he had begun to forget what sense was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this took a while. I was going to use Romania instead of Norway but I couldn’t write him well. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

They weren’t looking at Francis. They were looking inside him, eyes sharp as scalpels, dissecting the helplessly trapped foriegn creature. It was a sort of look he’d seen before, and he wanted to curl away from it somewhere. 

Bjørn narrowed his eyes, stepping away. “It shouldn’t make a difference,” he sighed, absentmindedly passing a slip of paper to Arthur. “Follow this, and if anything goes wrong you know where I’ll be.”

Arthur gave a formal nod, then whirled around to Francis the moment the door swung shut. The demon backed away, too sure of what was to come. 

Arthur took in the other’s defensive pose, trying to place any answers to the questions flooding him. 

“What exactly are you?” he muttered, partially to himself, circling in his thought like a shark surrounding its prey. 

Francis dug his nails into his palms, stepping away. He could feel thumping against his chest, and hoped it did not show. “I think you know exactly what I am, _petit sorcier_. I’m something that can very well defeat your cute party tricks. So, how about you stop meddling in things you don’t understand. Otherwise, that curious head might find itself separated from its body.”

The venom in his voice was shot like an arrow, almost flying straight to his mark. Yet, there was a slight quiver to his voice and Arthur recognized it too well.

The wildly thrown threats, the harsh aggression. It was a familiar sort of wound. He paused, stilling his body. 

“You’re not as confident as you want to appear,” he breathed, not sure who he was talking to. 

He made the mistake of eye contact, and almost gasped at the clear, shining, violet, _helplessness_. Something flickered inside them that unwound a memory of a child laughing, of feeling like he could do anything, of…

He tore himself away.

“B-Bjørn says there should be a gateway somewhere nearby?” he forced out, hating how his own   
voice sounded fragile as glass.

Francis let out his own shuddering breath. So after all these years, human emotion still seemed set on entwining itself around his life.

“I highly doubt you’ll be fond of the location,” he grinned, and whatever emotion there was evaporated.

“If it’s in bloody France I’ll have you know there are knives in this apartment.”

Silence.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always thanks for reading!
> 
> comment if you have any thoughts. literally any thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur sighed, trying to clear his head while he had space. His suitcase laid in front of him, messily packed. Across the hall, he could hear faintly hear the demon pacing, stepping lightly on the floorboards.

Dragging the heavy case out the door he briefly glanced at Francis, who was examining a collection of photos, then looked away because he didn’t care.

“Come on, you’re not going to make me late,” he muttered, checking the time on his phone.

“Arthur, may I ask you something?”

“Not the time!” he hissed, attempting to drag the demon out the door. Francis gave him an indecipherable look, then gave in. 

“Can you let go of my sleeve now?”

Arthur shoved the Frenchman as he did so.  
\--------------------------------------

They were on the train. Arthur had fallen asleep. He still didn’t look peaceful.

The human’s mouth was slightly curved in a whisper of a frown, his hands clenched. Yet his eyes seemed soft and relaxed, and he almost smiled as a soft murmur fell from his lips. Francis looked at him for a bit longer, then sighed.

_How have things gotten this way?_

He let his hand linger across his chest, feeling for where a heartbeat would be. He felt the stillness under his palm, as if it would make it so he truly lacked a heart. In the corner of his eye Arthur blurred into soft shades of messy hair. He chuckled softly to himself as a feeling that disguised itself as nostalgia swept over him. 

Heartless indeed.

Arthur felt himself rise into consciousness like a waterlogged swimmer breaking through for air. He tried to remember where he was for a second.

“It’s cold,” he muttered.

Francis shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.” At the confused look he continued. “This form is merely decoration, I can fully merge into it but in the state I’m in it’s more like an outfit than anything. I thought it’d be best to not trouble myself with pain receptors or blood flow after your rather unpleasant summoning.”

“That ability is slightly disturbing.”

He held out his hand, and Arthur let two fingers rest on his wrist, feeling for a pulse. They lingered on the cold skin, absentmindedly curling around it. The Brit’s eyes looked distant, like fields of grass in a meadow far away. When he finally snapped out of his thoughts, he withdrew back into himself. 

“So you’ve had this form for a while then?”

Francis raised his eyebrows at the friendly tone. “It’s the one I use most often, yes,” he replied lightly, pleasantly surprised at the attempt for actual socialization. “I’ve been a girl for a few decades.”

It dawned upon Arthur that this was probably the longest he had spent with someone in a while, and he’d chosen the company of a French demon. It also dawned on Arthur that he might have even been enjoying it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *youtuber voice* WHAT'S UP AO3 it's ya girl(??) flower and today we're gonna be playing: i finally update

Arthur’s current life plan was to die, go to hell, drag Francis with him, suffer for his sins or whatever, then go to God and question what in the everlasting fuck he did to deserve this. 

“You could have told me that your ever so crucial gateway had a bloody long line in front of it.”

Francis shot an impressively haughty glare through his violet eyes, how had he not gotten stares for his eyes? It wasn’t every day you saw someone with eyes that color, like dried lavender flowers. Perhaps Arthur was concentrating on the wrong thing.

“Typical of a human,” the demon lamented, “to blame the otherworldly for your own foolish undoings. I doubt Gluttony himself would praise the consumerism that washes over your land like a plague, spreading disease like-”

“Would you shut up already,” Arthur growled quietly. “We’re going to get attention.”

Francis looked like he had a retort, but instead turned away with a dramatic flourish. After a few seconds, he turned back around, and frowned at Arthur’s unamused look.  
“These have been some of the least enjoyable moments in a few centuries, let me have my fun.”

The Brit smiled slightly when Francis wasn’t looking. 

As they stood in silence, Arthur considered their options. They could of course wait in line like respectable law-abiding human beings, except Arthur did not think of himself as respectable or particularly law-abiding, and Francis was clearly not a human being. However, Arthur also had no idea how to go about breaking into a place, and murder would be to distracting, despite how tempting it was. 

“I’m going to bang my head against a wall,” he announced. 

“Excellent idea,” Francis replied, looking almost bored. A small smile twitched at the edges of the demon’s mouth, as if he knew something Arthur didn’t.  
“Do you know something I don’t?”

“Maybe,” Francis sang, drumming manicured nails against his side. There was a gleam in his eyes now, something cunning and otherworldly, and Arthur found himself backing away instinctively. 

“I’ll tell you…” the demon began, relishing in the immediate effect his words had, “if you tell me something.”

Arthur sputtered. “What gives you the right to make deals like that?”

“I’m a demon, it’s basically my job.”

“That has nothing to do with your rights, drug dealing is a job that doesn’t mean it’s not illegal.”

“Making deals with people isn’t illegal, there’s not a law against it.” 

“I’m sure I could find something in the constitution.”

“I’m not British, idiot.”

“The French constitution then.”

“Can you speak French?”

“Why in the world would I waste my time learning a stupid language that sounds like a cough?” Arthur noted that they were getting a few looks, and he should probably stop insulting the French if he didn’t want to be hit in the head with a baguette or something. In his defense it had been a while since he had argued with someone. He also might have taken several French courses in high school but Francis didn’t know that.

“How do you plan to read the French constitution then?” Francis retorted, smirking but with the danger gone from his eyes.

“Google Translate,” Arthur muttered quietly, mentally cursing his pride.

“Well, to answer your question,” the demon shrugged, “I can get us out of here if you don’t mind causing a disturbance.”

“I can cause a disturbance on my own, thank you very much.”

Francis hummed. “But do you have guns?”

_Oh god_ “Why?”

“He does,” Francis grinned, before everything turned to chaos, punctured by a blur of white that enveloped the incubus in something in between a death grip and a hug.

“What have you been up to, birdie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> be sure to like, comment, and subscribe for more updates!! *dies*


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